


Once Upon a December

by neversaydie



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anastasia AU, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Multi, Russia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neversaydie/pseuds/neversaydie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One cold December night, the heir to the Russian throne disappeared after his family was massacred. No trace of him was ever found. </p><p>Ten years later, Steve and Clint are trying to find a boy to pass off as the missing prince to make a quick buck. They just might get more than they bargained for. </p><p>[Anastasia AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Frozen

**Author's Note:**

> My Christmas gift to the fandom. You guys have been so wonderfully kind about my other fics, so I thought I'd give you a gift this way since I can't possibly thank you all. 
> 
> Enjoy the fluff, happy holidays!

Bucky's breath rises up before his face in a crystal cloud as he walks to the gate of the orphanage for the final time. His steps are muffled in the snow, still soft and unblemished but for his footprints since it fell overnight, and the world is oddly quiet this early in the morning. He tucks his scarf tighter around his neck as he looks back at the building that has been his home for as long as he can remember.

 _For as long as he can remember_. The word has defined his life, _memory_. He's heard the story time and again, how they found him wandering around a train station the day the palace fell, crying for his mother and otherwise completely mute. When they got him calmed down and talking, a blanket around his shoulders for warmth and a nip of vodka on his lips for strength, they found he had no memory at all of who he was.

Not even his name had survived the fall.

They assumed his mother had been crushed in the chaos and panic of the day, as many others were at the train station, and took him to the orphanage. Since then his past has been nothing but a ghost story, something for the other children to tease him with. He came to them with a notion of manners and protocol that he quickly shook off to survive, but they still spent years calling him _little princess_ just to rile him up. Soon his fists got more use than his manners and whatever background he'd come from was forgotten.

Now he's leaving for good. He's aging out of the orphanage tomorrow, his eighteenth birthday looming large on the calendar, and he wants to avoid all the fuss and bother, including Mr Coulson badgering him about the job at the fish market that he's so kindly secured for him. Bucky is leaving in the night, without saying goodbye, because he needs to make his own way now. He won't spend his life gutting fish five miles away and come back to visit at the weekends, he won't settle down with a woman with no family or prospects just like him so they both have somewhere in the world to call home.

He has a home somewhere, a real home. He must do. As he turns away from the orphanage and looks down the road, he intends to go and find it.

Then a snowball hits him in the back of the head, and his daydreaming is washed away by the trickle of cold water running down the back of his neck.

"Natka!" He whips around and catches sight of a flash of red hair, hissing the admonishment before he knows for sure who it is. Who else would it be but his little sister? "What are you doing out of bed?"

"You were leaving without saying goodbye." She stands her ground, packing another snowball together with the wounded fury that only a sixteen year old girl can truly put into snowball construction. "You promised."

"I'm sorry." He drops his pack in the snow and opens his arms, anticipating the way she runs into them without a second thought. He's the only one Natasha will hug, and he's been doing his best not to think about what she'll do when she's scared once he's left.

She'd arrived at the orphanage as a six year old, still sooty and smelling of smoke from the fire that killed her parents. She'd scratched and bitten anyone who got too close, which only encouraged the older kids to pick on her and let her know she wasn't welcome. That is, until Bucky caught a group of them shaking her upside down in the dining hall and blackened three eyes and knocked out innumerable baby teeth before Mr Coulson pulled him off.

Since then, Natasha has been his little sister. He makes sure she gets enough to eat, she makes sure he doesn't get lost in his head when he goes on one of his memory wanders. They love each other like blood, and this day has been weighing on them both all year. Standing in the snow, Bucky squeezes her tight and buries his face in her bright hair, trying to burn it into his memory.

Then he notices her pack.

"Natka, no."

"I'm coming with you." She stands firm, her eyes boring into his like hot coals. Bucky already knows he's not going to be able to say no to her.

"No, you're not." He sighs and puts his hands on her tiny shoulders. "It's dangerous out there, I don't even know where I'm going to sleep tonight or what I'm going to eat. You can't come with me."

"I can help you find somewhere to stay." Natasha doesn't stop that intense look, that expression that makes her look so much older than she is. "I know how the world works, Bucky. People are going to be kinder to you if you have a girl in tow."

"I can't protect you out here." Bucky cups her chin in his hand and sighs. He can't stop her, but he's scared of taking her out into the big bad world with nothing set in stone. "Please don't come."

"Who's going to stop you getting lost in your head if I don't?" She shakes her head and shoves his shoulder, hiding the genuine concern on her face with roughness. "I'm coming with you, solntse. You're acting like you have a choice in this, stop complaining."

Bucky lets out a long sigh, a dragon's breath in the cold air. He makes a frustrated noise and picks up his pack again, slinging it over his shoulder and pulling up his scarf to cover the lower half of his face. He points his finger at Natasha, who's now smirking triumphantly because she knows she's won.

"You're carrying your own shit."

"Fine."

"And if you start complaining that your feet hurt, I'm selling you to the first European I see."

"Of course." She picks up her pack and grins, because she knows he'll give her a piggyback the first time she looks a little tired. She has her big brother wound around her little finger, and she's not going to let him go out into the world without someone watching his back.

They hop the fence with the ease of practice, repeating the motions they've been through a thousand times to sneak off to town or into the woods in the summer. At the fork in the road, the choice between the fishing village where Bucky has a job waiting for him, or St Petersburg a day's journey away, looms large before them. Natasha looks across at her brother, eyes gleaming in the early-morning light.

"So, captain. Which way do we go?"

Bucky takes the road less travelled. Maybe it will lead him to the past, as well as the future.

*

_The guns have been getting closer for a day, and the truth is finally unavoidable._

_The palace is falling. They have to run._

_"Nikolai!"_

_His sisters are in their nightgowns. His mother and grandmother have been sewing jewellery into them for weeks, all the precious heirlooms of the dynasty that will be lost when the revolutionaries storm the palace. They won't take the girls' clothes, not unless things are much worse than they feared, so they will be able to keep something valuable. Something they can sell to survive, if they have to._

_Nikolai is running beside his grandmother. She's not so old, but she's been a royal her whole life and the fear and adrenaline of the situation is almost overwhelming her. Nikolai keeps his hand on her arm, pulls her along beside him when she shrieks at the sound of breaking glass and almost freezes up._

_Then he remembers the dagger, and he lets her go to run in the opposite direction._

_"Nikolai, come back!"_

_The jewelled dagger had been a present from his father, a special gift for his special son, his only male heir. Nikolai treasured it, always carried it on his belt like he was a real man. Alexander had pointed his finger at the little boy and promised he would use it to slit his father's throat, the day they threw him out of his job and he cursed the entire family. They discovered Nikolai's tutor, his parents' friend, the man the children saw as an uncle, had been feeding information to the revolutionaries. Betraying them._

_Nikolai must take the dagger with him. If Alexander can't use it, then childishly he thinks his father will stay alive._

_He runs to his bedroom and dives under the bed, fingers closing around the familiar hilt of the dagger like a comfort blanket. His grandmother flies into the room behind him and slams the door behind her, screaming as the hammering begins immediately against the lock. The revolutionaries have made it this far, and his parents and sisters were ahead of them –_

_The wall opens._

_The servants' passages, of course. The blond head of the kitchen boy pokes out and he runs over, grabbing Nioklai's grandmother's arm. He's the same age as Nikolai, they played together as children when they were too young for protocol to be enforced. Now he is a servant and Nikolai is a prince and he can't remember the boy's name._

_"This way." The boy calls out to Nikolai, pushing his grandmother towards the wall. "It'll take you outside the palace, through the kitchens."_

_"Come on baboulya!" Nikolai runs after them. The door starts to splinter as the boy shoves them into the passage._

_The dagger slips from Nikolai's hand._

_His father will not survive._

_The passage door closes behind them, the boy throwing his whole weight onto it to slam it shut. The revolutionaries break into the room moments later, and the boy falls under the butt of a rifle as Nikolai and his grandmother run for safety in their bare feet in the snow._

_They get as far as the train station, they get onto the train, they cling to the side of the carriage and then –_

_And then Nikolai slips on the icy metal and falls from the train and then –_

_And then he hits his head on the frozen ground and is lost in the crush of people panicking and trying to flee the city. The crowd swallows him up, and his grandmother can't go back. Something of the family must survive._

_When he wakes up, he isn't Nikolai anymore._

_*_

Steve wakes up when an apple falls on his head.

"Fuck!" He sits straight up, clapping one large hand to his forehead and squinting up into the rafters. There's no sound but a few birds flapping around, and he knows one of them didn't drop fruit on his head. "I know you're up there, asshole!"

"There's nobody up here!" The voice comes from one corner, and Steve automatically looks at the other one. Clint learned how to throw his voice in the circus, and Steve's wise to him using it to throw him off.

"Then how'd I end up with a lump on my head?" Steve grumbles, rubbing at the red mark on his head before he grabs the apple to take a bite.

"Sleepin' on the job, that's how." Clint flips down from the rafters and lands in front of him without so much as a scuffle, and Steve rolls his eyes. He always has to show off. "I'm out there workin' my fingers to the bone and you're napping."

"Doing magic tricks on the corner is hardly working your fingers to the bone." Steve raises his eyebrows as his friend flops down beside him and pulls a hunk of bread from his jacket to split between them.

"Hey, it's cold out there." Clint elbows him a little too hard in the side and hands over half the bread. His fingerless gloves are looking worn, Steve notices the fraying at the edges and wonders if they'll last another week or if they'll have to move again once they go stealing. "And you're busy sleepin', so…"

"I had to rest my eyes." Steve rubs at them groggily before he shoves a bite of stale bread into his mouth. It'll be too dry to swallow, but there's still some water in the canteen on his desk so he'll survive.

Clint glances over at the stack of papers and nods vaguely, understanding. Steve dreams of being an artist, and in their situation that translates into forging documents for people who can't afford to bribe their way to them officially. Passports, travel visas, birth certificates, Steve's copies are impossible to tell apart from the real thing. But because they take time to produce, and because even though they're black market they still cost a fair amount for people to buy, the work comes in dribs and drabs.

They don't have a steady way of making money, because a couple of visas a week and Clint hustling on the corner for pennies doesn't exactly bring in a lot of cash. The winter is closing in colder and colder every night, and they need to find a way to get inside soon. Steve's lungs and Clint's wiry frame can't take another December outdoors.

"The circus is gonna be in town in a week or so." Clint doesn't look at Steve, just picks at his tatty gloves and tries to look disinterested. He knows how Steve feels about the circus. "We could always join up. You know they'd take us."

"You were black and blue when I found you, Clint. You're not going back there." Steve's voice is firm, and his friend actually appreciates him putting his foot down.

They'd met because Steve was too kind-hearted for his own good. He could barely afford to feed himself and was sleeping in abandoned buildings, yet he'd still picked up the kid he found lying in the snow with blood all over his shirt.

Clint had grown up in the circus and on that night, after yet another beating, he decided he couldn't take it anymore and ran. He was only a kid, ten years old, wouldn't have survived without the older boy watching his back for the first few weeks until he found his feet. He still considers going back to the life he knew every time the circus comes to St Petersburg, but Steve has held him back for six years. He's not about to let Clint go back to the existence he barely escaped alive.

"Then we need to try the Nikolai job again."

"Again?" Steve huffs out an irritable sigh. "Last time we didn't even get to the border, man. The guy couldn't even get the sibling names right."

The Nikolai job has been tried by every shitty con man this side of Siberia. When the Romanov family was murdered during the revolution, rumour had it that the youngest son, heir to the Russian throne, escaped his execution but ended up lost somewhere in Russia. The rumours were confirmed when the last living member of the royal family, his grandmother, offered a huge reward for information leading to the recovery of Nikolai Romanov.

Naturally, every boy of appropriate age has tried their luck since then. Some people have made a career out of grooming prospective young men to walk, talk, and act the way they imagine the lost prince would. The Dowager Empress has reportedly seen hundreds of boys claiming to be her grandson, but no one has fitted well enough to fool her yet.

Maybe they can do better.

"So we find a better guy this time." Clint shrugs, grabbing the blanket that Steve's been napping under and pulling it over so he can share the warmth. "There are new guys in the city every day, we'll put the word out and audition people again."

"I don't know…"

"Ten million rubles. _Ten million_ , Steve." Clint gestures wildly and snatches back the bread that his friend clearly isn't eating. "It's worth the effort, if we get the right guy. We'll get out of Russia, we'll never have to worry about money again."

"Yeah. If we get the right guy."

"We will." Clint shoves him in the shoulder and flops back onto the thin straw mattress. "Have a little faith, my friend."

"Yeah." Steve snorts, sceptical as always. He'd lost his faith a very long time ago, to the butt of a rifle. "Faith."

*

Natasha meets Clint when he tries to pick her pocket.

"Hey!" She feels the unfamiliar shift in her too-big overcoat and grabs the invading wrist without a second thought.

The boy, and he is a _boy_ of probably only about her own age, tries to yank his arm away as she whips around to face him. When he realises she's strong enough to keep hold of him, he panics and tries to kick her in the shin. She dodges his boot and then panics right back at him when she sees him get his free hand around a flash of metal in his pocket.

Natasha punches him in the nose and screams for her brother.

"Bucky!"

Bucky, who's been haggling with the guy at the train ticket booth for the last fifteen minutes, runs through the grey slush of the street to his sister's aid. He grabs the kid in a headlock and yanks him away from Natasha easily, surprisingly easily. The kid can't be older than sixteen, and he's pretty small for his age. Small enough for Bucky to lift off his feet as he drags him away and his eyes blaze like fire and white hot ash.

"Lemme go!" The kid kicks and tries to thrash his way out of Bucky's grasp. "Get off me!"

"You tried to rob my sister." Bucky tosses the kid into the dirty snow and then yanks him up by his coat again, slush spraying everywhere as he tries to struggle away.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, okay?" The kid is still fighting as Bucky fishes the little flick-knife out of his pocket. He'd figured there would be a weapon or Natasha would have been able to handle herself. Looks like she did, with the way the kid's nose is streaming blood down his shirt.

"You tried to pull a knife on my sister?" Bucky holds it up in front of his face, and the kid goes suddenly still. Natasha is leaning against a storefront with her arms folded, watching with cool detachment as the incident plays out.

"Well?" He jabs it at the kid's face again, nothing but ice behind his eyes. "Did you?"

"I wasn't gonna do nothin'!" The kid still doesn't struggle, and although he looks afraid he's also starting to look slightly curious as he gets a good look at Bucky's face.

"Yeah? What are you carrying this around for then?" Bucky waves the knife next to his bloody nose again, and then there's someone else joining the fray.

"Hey, hey!" The blond guy approaches with his hands up, placating rather than diving in to fight like Bucky would have done. "Put him down, okay? This is just a big misunderstanding."

Bucky only spares him a glance before he's back to staring at the kid, but he catches the curious look that flits over the bigger guy's face too. What the hell is with these two? He's threatening the little one with a knife, so why do they almost look pleased?

"Hell of a misunderstanding, pulling a knife on my little sister." He growls at the kid, still holding him up by the collar and inches from his face.

The blond guy walks closer with slow, careful steps. Natasha matches his pace on the other side of them, cautious and ready to intervene if he thinks about trying anything. But the guy just reaches out one big, pale hand and rests it steadily on Bucky's forearm. Bucky looks across at him with confusion, brow furrowed and glaring under his ratty hair.

"He's sorry. He'll give back anything he took." He shoots a glance at his little accomplice. "Won't you?"

"I never—"

" _Won't you_."

"Sure. Fine." The kid huffs and Bucky finally drops him to the floor again. "I didn't even take nothin'!"

"Not for lack of trying." Natasha pipes up drily, but neither of them are looking at her. They're both fully staring at Bucky now the immediate danger is over.

"What?" He looks between the two of them, starting to get irritated as his cheeks heat up. He's not used to being under scrutiny, usually nobody spares another grubby orphan a second glance. He growls the question again. "What?!"

"He's perfect, right?" The kid on the ground seems to be talking to his friend… about Bucky. "I mean, give him a haircut and clean him up some."

"What the fuck are you staring at?!" Bucky glares at them again, and the big guy raises his hands again in a gesture of surrender.

"I'm Steve, this is my friend Clint." A crooked grin stretches over his full lips and Bucky steps closer to Natasha instinctively, because he doesn't know what's coming next. "We want to make some money, and we have a proposition for you."

Bucky glances at his sister with a question in his eyes. Of everything they could have said, he hadn't expected that.

Maybe this December is looking up, after all.


	2. Freezer Burn

"This is a stupid idea."

"Yeah, I know." Bucky sighs and tosses another blanket over his sister's head. They're curled up on a paper-thin old mattress, huddled up against the cold in the abandoned church they're squatting in. "But it's the best chance we've got. And there's nothing to say I'm _not_ some lost prince."

"Apart from, y'know, that you're _you_." Natasha arches an eyebrow and sticks her tongue out when Bucky gives her the finger.

"Hey, I could be a prince." Bucky tosses his hair back with a derisive sniff, sitting up straighter and trying to look a little less feral than he usually does. "They thought so."

"They thought you were a prostitute." She deadpans, and Bucky bristles.

"They didn't think I was a prostitute!"

"I kinda thought you were a prostitute." Clint raises his hand from across the room, and Bucky could swear he sees Natasha hide a smirk out of the corner of his eye. He's going to have to keep an eye on this kid, who's been following her around like a lost puppy since his nose stopped bleeding.

"I'm not a—"

"Nobody thought you were a prostitute." Steve pipes up exasperatedly from the desk, finishing whatever he's working on with a flourish. He sets his pen down and stands up, tossing something to Clint before he walks over to Bucky and Natasha.

"Here." He passes them two small books backed in red cardboard, along with a few extra paper inserts. Bucky turns the passport and visa over in his hands gingerly, marvelling at it. It looks like the most expensive thing he's ever held in his life. "These will get us to Germany, then we can get a boat to France."

"And that's where this old lady is." Bucky nods, flipping open the passport to read the inside.

"It's where your _darling_ _grandmother_ is." Clint corrects him from across the room, throwing a paper airplane with unnerving accuracy. Natasha catches it and unfolds it, smirking at whatever is written on it. Bucky narrows his eyes at the boy, because hitting on his sister is going to end very badly for the little punk.

"Alexi?" He reads the name on the passport with a frown.

"Yeah, sorry. I couldn't exactly put 'Bucky' as the name, too unusual." Steve smiles sheepishly at the scepticism in his voice. "I figured it didn't matter, it's only to get us through the border."

"It's fine." Bucky puts the passport carefully into his pack, just hoping that Natasha isn't going to—

"He has a real name, you know." Of course she is.

"Shut up, Natka." Bucky can feel his face start to heat up already, and of course that just makes Clint sit up straighter.

"What is it?" He presses, grinning viciously at the way Bucky cringes. "C'mon, he nearly killed me today. I deserve a little payback."

Bucky's pleading look is soundly ignored by his sister, who delights in embarrassing him at the best of times. Especially, apparently, when she's trying to show off to scuzzy little boys who bat their eyelashes at her.

"Konstantin."

"Konstantin?!" Clint bursts out laughing, holding his sides theatrically as he rolls back onto his equally threadbare mattress. Bucky stands up, face burning, as he notices that even Steve cracks a smile at his stupid name. For some reason that bothers him most of all.

"Traitor." He points at Natasha accusingly, narrowing his eyes as she merely smirks back. "I'm going for a walk."

"Don't go far, your highness." Clint calls after him, and Bucky kicks over the kid's pack on his way out. Fuck that guy.

He stomps down to the street and waits long enough to blend into the background before he starts talking to a middle-aged woman and charms a cigarette from her. He heads back into the doorway of the abandoned church to smoke it, cupping his hands around the glowing end against the bitter cold as night falls and the streets start to empty.

Something about being in the city is itching at the back of his mind, and he can't quiet the whispers that are starting up in his memory. Usually he would go with it, follow the ghosts in the hope that they would lead him to something solid, some clue of his past that he could follow to fact, but he can't afford to get lost in his head now. If he sits here useless for two days, because he can get pretty catatonic when he goes on what Natasha calls 'one of his wanders', he'll die. The boys will leave him to the ice and they'll take Natasha with them.

Maybe that would be better for everyone.

"Hey." The quiet greeting jerks him out of his head, and he looks over his shoulder to see Steve standing in the doorway behind him, bundled up against the cold. "I brought you some food."

"Thanks." Bucky mumbles, taking the offered bread and cheese and tearing into it hungrily. He doesn't look up at Steve again, keeping his eyes on his food, so he's surprised when the guy sits down beside him on the cold stone step.

"I'm sorry about Clint." He says after a few minutes, when Bucky is pretty much just picking crumbs off his gloves. "He's a nice kid, really. He's just defensive."

"Is that code for being an asshole?" Bucky grunts, still picking at his gloves even though there's no morsel of food left to find. He feels shy under Steve's steady gaze, like someone is seeing through his barriers for the first time.

"You know what it's like, hit first and ask questions later." Steve puts a hand on Bucky's shoulder, and Bucky still doesn't pull away. What's with him when it comes to this guy? "Come on, it's cold out here and we're leaving early in the morning. We need to get you presentable."

"Presentable?" Steve laughs at the worried look on his face, and something about the sound makes Bucky twitch a grin in spite of his scepticism.

Steve is some kind of hypnotist, he decides a few minutes later. That's the only way he could possibly be letting the guy comb his fucking hair in the back of a freezing church.

To be fair, Steve is gentle as he gets the tangles out of Bucky's ratty dark hair, but somehow the careful fingers against his scalp are worse than any sharp tugs. Bucky finds himself blushing fiercely as Steve takes a scrap of cloth and ties his hair back into a low ponytail, getting it off his face properly for the first time in years. He'd _definitely_ get a spanking at the orphanage for the kind of thoughts he's having right now.

"Is it okay if I wash your face?" Steve asks, as he starts breaking the thin layer of ice that's formed over the font. Bucky thinks it must have been a long time ago that the water was considered holy.

"Um, sure." He fidgets where he sits uncomfortably in the one old pew that hasn't been broken apart for firewood, not sure how he feels about having those gentle fingers so close to his mouth.

"Gotta make sure you haven't got any, y'know, birthmarks that don't match." Steve explains as he wets a cloth and comes to kneel down in front of Bucky. Vaguely, Bucky is aware that this is something he could do himself. But a bigger part of him doesn't want to do anything to make Steve stop.

The touch of the freezing water sends a shiver through him, countering the completely _different_ shiver that Steve inspires, and it clears Bucky's head some. He closes his eyes against the touch and somehow the words are spilling out of him like an icy river.

"It's not my real name, y'know." His eyes are closed, so he doesn't see the look of curiosity sparking again in Steve's blue eyes. "Konstantin, I mean. It's the name they gave me at the orphanage."

"Yeah?" Steve rinses the rag and starts working it gently down Bucky's neck now. Underneath the dirt he's almost… pretty. All cheekbones and dark, sweeping eyelashes. "So what's your real name?"

"I don't know." Bucky feels the same stab of shame that he did all those years ago, when he was introduced to the other children in the orphanage without a name, without an identity. It was almost like he wasn't a real person.

"You…" Steve pauses, not wanting to overstep his boundaries too much. Bucky finally opens his eyes, but he still keeps them downcast as he tells the story he's told a hundred times before. Never voluntarily until this moment.

"They found me wandering around a train station, I was eight. I must have hit my head, they said I didn't know who I was or where I was. They took me to the orphanage and gave me a name because they needed something to call me." He shrugs, almost able to ignore the way Steve's hand has lingered on his neck like he doesn't realise he's left it resting there against his pulse.

"You don't remember anything?" There's something tender in Steve's eyes, when Bucky finally looks up to meet them. It's not like pity, it's something softer. "Didn't they look for your family?"

"They said there wasn't much point. A lot of people died that winter, and nobody wanted to waste the money." He can't stop his eyes flicking down to Steve's lips. Chapped and cold, but somehow inviting. "And I only had one clue to work with, so…"

"One clue?" Steve's breathing has gone shallow, being this close to Bucky and finally realising that he's got his thumb running absently over the thrumming pulse in his throat.

His breath catches further when Bucky swallows hard and reaches up to undo the top buttons of his shirt. For every inch of pale skin revealed, Steve feels his heartbeat pick up in his ears. When Bucky tugs the necklace out of his shirt and holds it up, though, it's like a cold shower. He doesn't have to do anything to get a hold of himself once he catches sight of the red star in the middle of the small, circular pendant.

He's seen that necklace before.

"I was wearing this when they found me." Bucky glances down at it with a quiet sigh. "I've got no idea what it means. It can't be Bolshevik because it was too early for that, so..."

"So." Steve repeats, standing up suddenly. He feels like he's seen a ghost, and he doesn't want Bucky to catch on. "Get some sleep, okay? We're heading out early tomorrow."

"Yeah, you said." Bucky tucks the necklace away again and watches Steve with a frown. Was it the pendant that threw him off, or the weird tension that had formed between them when they got too close? "Tell that kid that if I come in there and he's anywhere near my sister…"

"I will." Steve nods and almost trips over his feet as he heads back into the rest of the church. "Uh, night."

"Night." Bucky stays sitting for a long time, watching Steve's back as he hurries away.

What the hell was that?

*

Travelling through Germany is an absolute farce from beginning to end.

They almost get caught on the train, because _someone_ used the wrong colour of ink to fill in their visas, so they spend the rest of the journey shivering in the luggage car. Bucky wakes up with his face pressed into Steve's neck, arm slung around his waist against the cold. He lifts his head up enough to glance around in the dim light and check on Natasha and Clint.

It turns out he needn't have worried about his sister's virtue. Natasha is curled up under their blankets and coats, one foot still resting on Clint's shoulder where she's clearly kicked him out from under the bundle. The kid has clearly given up and gone to sleep where he was shoved, huddled in just his overcoat. Bucky takes pity on him and gets up, wrestling one of the blankets from a very grouchy sleeping Natasha and tucking it around the kid. Maybe he's not so bad.

Bucky gets back into the space he'd nuzzled into beside Steve, telling himself he's just seeking out the warmth of body heat as he snuggles back down and buries his face in Steve's neck again. It's just a question of survival. That's all.

When they jump the train to avoid the ticket barriers at the other end, the shock of cold snow feels like exactly what Bucky deserves for thinking about Steve like that. They're here to do a job and make a lot of money, that's all. He can't complicate things when the guy is only interested in making a living. He'd run a mile if Bucky did anything like _that_.

Once they get off the train, things go from bad to worse. Every moment where they're not haggling in broken (shattered, really) German for food or transport is spent teaching Bucky about the prince he's supposed to be playing when they get to Paris.

 _Nikolai Romanov_. It tastes strange in his mouth. Stale, like it hasn't been touched for a long time.

Steve and Clint have pages upon pages of notes, minute details that they've tried to get boys to memorise over and over until they know them better themselves than the Dowager Empress probably does.

The problem is, it turns out that Bucky's short-term memory is just as shitty as his long-term one. Names and dates, appearances and personalities, they're all slightly misremembered. Or at least, it seems like they're misremembered. Steve harbours his suspicions that the seemingly odd conclusions Bucky comes to are closer to the truth than the information they have, but he keeps that to himself as things grow increasingly tense in their little camp.

"For the last fuckin' time, your sister's name was Maria, not Masha!" Clint slams the notes down on the table in frustration, and Bucky knocks them onto the floor in a flash of anger. They've been doing this all damn day and none of it is sticking in his head.

He's getting everything wrong and his head is clouded as hell. He keeps seeing faces when Clint says names, but they're always the wrong age or in weird scenarios: dark haired little girls hiding under beds, a blonde woman in a nightgown and curlers instead of a crown, his sister Masha—

His sister—

"Then why did I always call her that?!" He blurts out irritably, then goes white as he realises what he's said. Natasha is by his side as soon as she gets a look at his expression, abandoning her game of cards with Steve and touching her brother's shoulder.

"Come on, we'll get some fresh air." She hauls Bucky up and drags him out of the room they're squatting in for the night, knowing she needs to get him moving before he gets stuck in his head and they lose him to memories for as long as it takes for him to squash them down again.

Steve and Clint stare at each other when the door slams, sharing a worried look. They might just have the right guy for this con, although it's beginning to look like it's not a con after all. Somehow, that prospect is more worrying than if they were just straight-up lying. If they can't coach this guy into saying what he needs to then it won't matter who the hell he really is.

Once they get on the boat, things reach the point of no return.

Teaching Bucky and Natasha appropriate manners (because anything Bucky can do, she can do better) is a nightmare. Natasha is very good at behaving herself correctly, until something goes wrong and she loses her temper at the drop of a hat. Bucky, on the other hand, seems to have an innate knowledge of the kind of deportment they're trying to teach him, but he keeps becoming aware that he's remembering rather than learning for the first time and it's freaking him out.

Learning to dance is another tricky animal. Clint immediately calls shotgun on dancing with Natasha ("Because they _both_ have to learn, it doesn't make any sense for them to dance together!"), so Bucky and Steve have to partner up and stand an awkward arm's length away from each other as Clint takes them through the steps. Natasha takes to it like a fish to water, she's told Bucky many times that her mother had been a ballet teacher before she died, but her brother is a different story.

Despite the fact that he actually takes to the dancing very well, Bucky storms off after about twenty minutes when he can't take any more. The waltz brings images up of swirling fabric and jewellery glimmering in candle light, the silent pictures overwhelming him from somewhere he doesn't remember. Steve is left with a frown and a boner as his partner ducks back into their third-class room to find the bottle of cheap vodka Natasha had produced from somewhere to celebrate their first night aboard. He needs to shut the pictures out, he can't tell if they're real memories or just things he's learned and his mind is using to fool him.

That night, Steve jerks awake at the sounds of a storm battering against the hull of the ship. He looks around instinctively for Clint, rolling his eyes sleepily when he catches sight of him half-huddled under Natasha's blankets, half pushed onto the floor. That's progress if he ever saw it.

His groggy good mood is ruined when he looks across and sees that Bucky's nest of blankets is empty. The door of the room is open, banging against the frame every time the ship rolls. That must be what woke him.

Steve is up like a shot, barely pausing to grab his overcoat before he's rushing out of the room to find Bucky. He'd been quiet and lost in his head all evening, and Steve has a terrible feeling in his gut that there's something wrong. He pokes his head above decks just to check, although he's sure no one could still be out in this weather, and then –

And then lightning flashes and he sees wild hair and broad shoulders standing on the edge of the –

And then he sees Bucky let go, and Steve ignores the danger and _runs_.

"Bucky!" He grabs him around the waist and hauls him out of danger, back onto the soaking deck. He realises Bucky is asleep when he hears him mumbling, in an accent that he doesn't recognise. Things must be coming to the surface, pushing Bucky out of the way in favour of…

"…the Romanov curse!" He tries to thrash away from Steve's arms, but Steve holds him firm because he's afraid Bucky will go overboard if he lets him go. He won't let him fall. He'll never let him fall again.

"Buck, what?" He shakes his shoulders, worried about what exactly he's starting to remember. It couldn't happen at a worse time, as the rain lashes down on the deck and the ship rolls almost too far for them to stay upright. They need to get inside. "You're dreaming, Buck. It's not real."

He opens his eyes but they're glazed as grey as the sea, as if nothing is behind them but an unremembered past.

"I keep seeing faces, so many faces… I-I remember…" Bucky stutters, staring past Steve at things that couldn't be there in the storm.

"Bucky, _Bucky_. You're okay, I've got you." Steve pulls his soaked friend into his arms, holding him tightly because he doesn't know what else to do. Bucky stops fighting and goes still as he's held, finally slumping against his chest. "It was just a dream. Just a nightmare."

The guilt of the lie is almost overwhelming, as he drags Bucky back below decks and concentrates on getting him warmed up before he catches his death. Hopefully he won't have to lie for much longer. He's starting to be more worried about the damage they're doing to Bucky than the fate of the job, and that's dangerous. They should be docking in just over a day, and then the real work begins.

The past and present are about to collide, and that's where the truth will be found.


	3. On Ice

"Why are we going to see her friend?" Natasha has been sniping at them the entire way to Paris. She and Clint had some kind of silent argument on their way off the boat and she's been in a foul mood ever since, so everyone else is feeling the brunt of her temper. "Why don't we just go to see her?"

"Because you don't just walk up to the Dowager Empress and say, hey, I'm your long lost grandson, gimme ten million rubles." Clint rolls his eyes with the burning bitchy power of a thousand suns, and Steve is tempted to hide behind Bucky as Natasha's face goes nuclear. "Everyone has to go through the Starks first."

"What if they don't think I'm…" Bucky says it quietly, just to Steve. He's not interested in getting in the middle of Natasha and Clint knocking lumps out of each other.

"They will." Steve squeezes his arm discreetly, disguising it as giving directions as they turn down the street. Bucky's been too nervous to eat since the boat, since he started to remember things he's too afraid to tell anyone about, and Steve is doing his best to prevent him passing out before they even get to the house.

The nightmare knocked something loose, whatever had actually caused it, and scared Steve half to death in the process. Bucky had no problem memorising all the facts Steve and Clint had drilled into him afterwards, elaborating on them in his own notes rather than rejecting them altogether. Natasha is the only one who can even start to read his cramped, rushed Cyrillic, and she'd quietly mentioned the elaborations to Steve when Bucky and Clint were busy trying to prove who the best marksman was by throwing darts at a target they'd drawn on the wall.

If Bucky's not this lost prince then he's going crazy. He's not sure which one is more terrifying.

As it turns out, the Starks do believe that he's Nikolai Romanov. The little gang are shown into the house by a portly, cheerful butler who Steve addresses as 'Jarvis', which Bucky's sure is worse than _Konstantin_ ,as names go. Anthony, who's short and has the kind of facial hair that Bucky's sure is fashionable but isn't exactly… flattering, stands up as soon as they're shown into the parlour and stares at Bucky like he's seen a ghost.

He's doesn't take any convincing, Bucky's face does it all for him.

"Wow." Stark glances across at Steve like he's reluctant to tear his eyes away from the memory in front of him. "If this is fake then I'm employing you immediately, Rogers. I knew you were a forger but nobody's this good."

He steps closer to Bucky, who wants to shrink under the weight of his scrutiny. He's cleaned up and wearing a pretty decent overcoat (only slightly stolen from someone who could definitely afford another one, according to Clint) that's only a little too big for him, but he still feels like a dirty child standing in the fanciest room he's ever seen in his life. That he remembers, anyway. Stark is clearly wealthy, and there's something about him that makes Bucky feel like he's seen him before from a different angle. Maybe from sitting down. Or when he was smaller.

"Extraordinary." Stark circles him, looking him up and down like a piece of meat. "You look exactly like him. The Tsar, I mean. But you definitely have her mouth. What's your story, snowflake?"

"I woke up at a train station when I was eight. No memory. They took me to an orphanage." It's clipped, not the fancy accent that Clint and Steve have been trying to persuade him into, but Bucky feels itchy standing under the laser lights of Stark's eyes. "I aged out, went to St Petersburg. Met these guys. Now I'm here."

"Sounds plausible." Stark shrugs, not giving anything away as he continues to circle Bucky like a wolf. "My parents went to look for Nikolai and his grandmother, the night the palace fell. Bolsheviks found them. You _could_ say that the Romanovs killed them too. Y'know. If you were being accurate."

"Tony." Steve's tone is warning, but Bucky just shrugs under the weight of something else that he doesn't remember doing. He thinks this is supposed to inspire guilt in him, but everything is too foggy for him to feel like he deserves blame.

He's not sure how Steve knows Anthony Stark enough to call him _Tony_ , and he gets the feeling this isn't the moment to ask. How many times have they been here with other boys they thought they could pass off as the real missing prince?

"I don't remember what happened." He meets Stark's gaze steadily. "I'm sorry about your parents, though."

Stark seems to accept this, twitching a nod to Bucky and dropping the subject. He finally invites them to sit down, and Bucky feels like he almost collapses into the chair with his legs turning to jelly under him. Across on the couch, Steve looks about as relieved as Bucky feels. They're on their way to passing the first test, to getting access to the Dowager Empress and finally finding out who he is.

The rest of the afternoon is spent with Bucky answering questions, extensive questions about his past and what he's started to remember. When Stark ("Call me Tony, little Nicky. You used to.") is satisfied that he's remembered enough not to embarrass him in front of his powerful friend, he calls his wife in and introduces Bucky as Nikolai.

Bucky's not sure he likes it, but Steve looks happy so he smiles politely all the same.

"You're sure this time?" Virginia is the opposite of Tony, tall, smiley, and very friendly even as she appraises Bucky discreetly. "And you're not lying about this?"

"No ma'am." Bucky shakes his head at the same time as Tony starts loudly insisting that his eyes work, even in his old age. When he finally finishes his spiel about how he's still young and virile and he'll prove it right here right now, Virginia just rolls her eyes at him and turns to Steve and Bucky with a smile.

"Well, it's a shame that you didn't get here sooner."

"What do you mean?" Steve is immediately on edge, and Bucky's pretty sure it's not out of concern for him but for the money he can see slipping away before his eyes.

"The Empress has stopped seeing boys claiming to be her grandson." She explains, with a certain degree of regret in her voice. Who knows how many guys she and her husband have been tricked into believing at this point, how many times they've put themselves on the line only to be let down. "It was wearing on her too much, all the false excitement. She's given up hope."

"But we have to see her!" Clint jumps up from where he's spent most of the afternoon quietly talking to Natasha via a complicated system of facial expressions. "He's the real deal! You said it yourself!"

"Calm down, birdbrain. We know what we're doing." Tony shuts him down with the decisiveness that only the rich and powerful possess. Bucky can see Steve visibly bristle in his friend's defence. "It's very fortunate that the Russian ballet is in Paris tomorrow, and I know for a fact that her highness never misses a performance."

"So we're gonna ambush her?" Clint raises his eyebrows sceptically, looking between Steve and Tony incredulously. "That's really gonna get her to listen. You rich assholes dunno how to get nothin' outta people."

"One more word out of you, boy—"

"You call my friend _boy_ again, and I'll walk." Bucky says it quietly, but his calm words command a silence in a way Steve has never witnessed before. Suddenly, he doesn't need the necklace or the face or the memory to convince him that somewhere in him, Bucky is a prince. "We're a package deal, all four of us."

"Of course." Virginia defuses the situation smoothly, her red hair and wide smile reminding Bucky of Natasha at her most beguiling as she smoothes everything over. "So we'll need to take you all shopping."

"Excuse me?" Of everyone, Clint seems to be the most suspicious of their surroundings and the rich people suddenly paying them attention. "Shopping?"

"Well, not to be rude, but you can't go to the ballet in your… travelling clothes." She puts it tastefully, smiles politely, and it's impossible to be angry with her. "I'll be more than happy to treat you to something as a little welcome to Paris. If only to have someone else to shop with except Tony."

"I'm great at—"

"I've been stuck on a boat with three boys for over a week. They smell bad and they don't own a hairbrush between them." Natasha, it turns out, is very good at putting on airs and graces when she needs to. She steps closer to Virginia with a dazzling smile. "If I don't get some female company then I think I might end up murdering them all."

"Then it's decided." Tony claps, summoning Jarvis from the kitchen. "Bring the carriage up, J. We're going shopping."

Bucky exchanges a nervous glance with Steve, tuning out Natasha's obvious glee and Clint's grudging excitement because he'll take anything he can get from this experience. They're doing it, they're really going to go to a fancy event and speak to the Empress and try and get her to believe that he's her grandson. He'll finally get to find out who… he might be.

He wonders if Steve thinks he's still pretending. Because he's pretty sure that he isn't, not anymore.

That still doesn't mean Nikolai didn't die when he fell off that train, but Bucky keeps that to himself.

*

The knock on the hotel room door is soft, almost hesitant, and Bucky only just hears it over the blood pounding in his ears as he looks in the mirror. He's not sure he recognises himself.

Of course they're staying in a swanky hotel now. The Starks had heard the first half of the address of the hostel they were stopping in and had immediately refused to let them stay there for another minute. It wasn't like they had anything to go and pick up, luggage is the luxury of people who actually own things, so they'd let themselves and all their new purchases be booked into this place without further ado. Natasha and Clint have already jumped on all their beds with the childish excitement that gave away their years. Their harsh life never usually allowed it, and it made Bucky's icy heart warm to see his sister laughing and relaxed, acting her age for a minute or two before reality kicked in all over again.

As for he and Steve, the suddenly luxury is a little more unsettling. Steve had knocked on Bucky's door late last night, standing uncomfortably in the hall in his brand new pyjamas with a sheepish look on his face. His blond hair was sticking up in the dim candlelight of the hall, like he'd tried to sleep and given up, and Bucky had to fight the urge to run his fingers through it and see if it was truly as soft as it looked.

"Bed's too soft." He'd explained softly, relieved to see that Bucky was still awake and holding a generously-large drink in his hand. He hadn't been able to sleep either, too many ghosts dancing around his head to close his eyes. "I feel like I'm gonna sink right to the floor."

"Well, mine ain't any harder." Bucky had waved him inside, smacking himself on the forehead while Steve's back was turned as he realised the innuendo of what he'd said.

Steve, to his credit, had only snorted a little laugh before he'd respectfully turned to just stealing Bucky's alcohol instead. Bucky had curled up against the headboard of his ridiculous bed and Steve had flopped down on the other end, trying to cheer his friend up with stupid remarks once he'd got a look at Bucky's pallid complexion and haunted eyes.

Looking back, neither of them can figure out how it happened. They'd slowly been shifting closer and closer from their extremes of the bed to meet in the middle, almost touching. One minute they were talking, Bucky finally starting to loosen up and laugh a little more easily once Steve coaxed the shadows out from his face. One minute Steve was giggling into his glass and the light was catching him just _so_. And then the next minute –

And then someone must have moved first, but for the life of them neither of them can remember who –

And then they were kissing.

The touch was soft and slow at first, like the first snow afraid that the ground will melt it before it can form, then harder, all teeth and spit and life. So _alive_ , because they're alive and they're here and nothing, nothing could have prepared two boys from the gutter to be in this rich room with the sun and moon so close they might cancel each other out if they aren't careful.

And then someone came to their senses. They broke apart, lips shiny and swollen and everything totally different from the way it had been before they crossed the invisible line between them. Bucky's hair hung over his eyes as Steve sat up quickly, head spinning from the drink and the shock of it all. Static electricity finally being discharged, tension finally acknowledged and not made any better.

"I should. Yeah." He'd got to his feet and almost bolted for the exit. He'd paused in the open doorway, looking back to check on Bucky just in case he wanted him to stay.

But Bucky hadn't raised his head, so Steve had escaped off into the night. They were both running from ghosts, only Steve's weren't dead.

Neither of them had slept, not in a night spent staring at the ceiling. Not a wink.

In the present, the knocking sounds again, louder this time. Bucky shakes his head to break himself out of his reverie and clears his throat in an attempt to get his head back online. It was a stupid, drunken moment of misjudgement, that's all. Neither of them will make anything of it, make it uncomfortable for the other to be around them. They're both adults, they can behave without their feelings getting in the way.

"Come in." He calls out, glancing over his shoulder to make sure he hasn't turned the lock by accident. He sees Steve's shoulder come around the door before the rest of him and smiles to himself, turning back to the mirror. Even after everything. He's happy to see him.

The sight of himself in the mirror makes himself less happy. He feels like he's wearing a dead man's skin. It's unsettling.

"Hey, I just thought I'd—" Steve stops dead in the doorway, his mouth hanging open slightly. Bucky can't help but smile, because he's a mixture of ridiculous and cute with that look on his face, but he's a little anxious at the expression anyway. Maybe last night had really shaken something loose for them both.

"What?" He turns slightly, his hands still fiddling with the ridiculous tie he's supposed to somehow just _know_ how to tie. He looks at Steve questioningly, his anxiety increasing as every second ticks by without an answer. " _What_?"

"You look…" Steve's mouth is suddenly dry, seeing Bucky standing there awkwardly in his fancy new clothes. He's still struggling with his tie, and Steve lets the door click closed behind him as he steps closer, his hands going for the fabric without a second thought. "Wow."

"Stupid, right?" Bucky twitches another brittle smile, trying to look cocky and failing abysmally. This, this wearing someone else's name like it belongs to him, is getting to him more than he'd anticipated. But then, he'd never expected this to turn out to be real.

"Gorgeous." Steve says it quietly, smoothing his hand over the now-perfect tie and reluctant to stop touching Bucky when they're standing this close again. He remembers the freezing cold of the abandoned church and thinks about how far they've come since they were last this close without losing control. Last night was… that was losing control.

He thinks about how Bucky is about to leave him behind for the life he was always meant to have. How he can't get involved and mess things up for him. How he'll set himself on fire if it'll keep Bucky warm.

"You think I look… like him?" Bucky asks hesitantly, as if afraid to show how nervous he is. He chews on his bottom lip as his eyes flick down to Steve's lips and back up to his eyes, like they can't decide where they want to rest more.

"I think you look like you." Steve means it to be encouraging, but he can't tell if Bucky takes it the way he intends it or not. Bucky's mouth twists a little, but he takes a breath and seems to shake himself, forcing a smile.

"Okay." Bucky pulls himself up taller, and something in Steve wants to grab the prickly kid he'd met weeks ago and hold him tight, keep him safe and separate from this _man_ he's suddenly looking at. Nikolai seems to be here in full force, but there's something of _Bucky_ that's missing. "Let's go get you your money."

Steve doesn't take note of the word choice until later. By then it's too late.


End file.
